


Freaks

by Happytide



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happytide/pseuds/Happytide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A circus is just one big, dysfunctional family like all the rest. She will never leave her family and he will never leave her. He is her magician and she is his assistant. Together they put on a show for a world that calls them freaks. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freaks

**Freaks**

_Chapter 1_

She has been away from the circus for only six years but that's long enough for her to learn that the real freaks are out there. Not in here.

The carnival grounds are particularly crowded that evening she returns. Grass sticks to the bottoms of her combat boots as she trudges between booths. The fat man. The contortionists. The palm reader. Same acts, same games and same faces for the most part. The world's a mess and the economy has gone to shit yet here it's like nothing's changed.

_She's_ changed. Enough to make her wonder if they would even recognize her if it weren't for the hood intentionally drawn down around her face.

She steps before a particular booth and smiles. The sign before his stage reads _The World's Mightiest Man_ outlined in flashing bulbs. It's impossible but he is even bigger then she remembers.

She watches as healthy young men repeatedly attempt to lift his heavy hammer from the stage while the large blonde man hoists their blushing girlfriends onto his wide shoulders. Eventually he lifts the hammer himself and waves it proudly above his head as his eyes pass over the crowd in triumph. The audience loves it.

As his eyes pass over the crowd, she goes stills. Without meaning to do it, she has ended up front and center of the crowd. Carnival lights flash across her face and she is _right_ in front of him yet his eyes pass on over her because somehow...

...he doesn't see her.

She wanders away from his stage, buys a candy apple and is sucking the sugar from her fingers when she sees _his_ booth.

_The Magician._

The sign is misleading. He's never done magic in his life, only tricks.

He is a little further away from the rest of the carnival but he's always liked his space. She doesn't dare approach his booth because there are far too few people there. But from afar she can see the young couple who have stepped into his web.

Even from here she is impressed by his skill at handling a deck. When Loki shuffles the cards his fingers are like wind going through the pages of a book. He fans them out and the girlfriend choses one. Dice clatter to the table and Sif sees the couple gasp. He wags two fingers and the guy begrudgingly drops some cash into Loki's ever surmounting jar.

He's still up to the same tricks. She is yards away, obscured by the hood of her jacket, and there are people moving in and out of his lane of view yet somehow...

...he sees her.

* * *

She waits until the very last hours of the night, when the sleepy patrons trickle off the grounds and the circus music dies away. Thor is unraveling the hand wraps from his meaty palms when she approaches him.

"I remember a time when this sign read World's Mightiest _Boy_ instead of Man."

Thor freezes at her voice and turns around.

"Sif."

Her name comes out of his mouth like a sigh of relief he has been holding in for six years. It's all he has to say before she shrugs off her green duffel bag and meets him in for a tight hug. She expects questions; where she's been all this time, who she's met and the things she's seen and all that other shit she isn't ready to answer.

Instead he tells her they will go out for a drink as soon he closes up.

God bless him.

An aged voice comes from behind Sif. "What are you doing here?"

She turns around and sees Odin hasn't physically changed one damn bit.

"My enlistment contract is up. I want back in."

"I've got enough performers," he grunts. Odin only has three ways of speaking; grunting, muttering or roaring.

Sif takes a deep breath and she can feel Thor at her back listening quietly for her reply. How can she explain how badly, she _needs_ to be here and how she should have never left.

"Frigga said this would always be my home. She promised me."

Sif would feel guilt if she weren't telling Odin the honest truth. His deceased wife is the only link in his chain and always has been even when she was alive.

The following morning the tents are taken down, booths are dissembled and the props are packed back up.

The train leaves to it's next destination and Sif is on it.

* * *

Sif is at first surprised and excited to learn she will be given an entire box car to herself. But then she discovers it's the _storage_ car and only a tenth of the space isn't cluttered with boxes of costumes, props and anything else that can be hoarded back there. It's enough space for a twin mattress, nightstand, small wash tub and, well, that's it. What else would she need though?

Thor introduces Sif as his kid sister to the few people who don't already know her. She cringes each time. Not just because they believe him but also because that in turn makes Loki her brother as well. Like hell.

It's not long before the newer performers want to see her talent for themselves. Sword swallowing is an ancient art yet it's an uncommon skill to find, even here in the circus. So she obliges them and they are moderately impressed if a little bit disturbed. Sif has been doing it for so long that she no longer bats an eye when the blade trails down her throat but for them it's a little unsettling.

Sif's talent isn't likely to ever make it to the Big Tent, the one in the center of the carnival. That's where the _real_ circus is at. The show is ran by Odin himself and features the acrobats, the tight rope walkers, the ponies and all that other _pretty_ stuff.

It's a while before Sif performs at all.

At first Sif is given the most humbling jobs a traveling circus has to offer. Odin mutters that he has to move some acts around or some other crap but Sif knows it's a test. He's making sure she intends to stay this time around.

So he gives her tasks like picking up trash after the shows. And bathing Volstagg cause lord knows the poor bloke is too fat to do it himself. And scooping out elephant dung by the pound. But Sif isn't going anywhere.

So Sif tips back her flask of whisky, rolls up her sleeves, takes it seriously and doesn't complain. She picks up stray tickets from around Heimdall's ticket stand. She bats out the old rugs in Karnilla's palm reading tent. She picks up pop corn and shit alike.

And for the most part Sif is content.

They never stay in the same town for more than a few weeks. When they take to the train tracks Sif holes herself up in her little box cart home and burrows into her mattress. The blowing of the train whistle doesn't sound like exploding grenades at all but she still needs her whisky to convince herself of this. No one knows about the PTSD and she plans to keep it that way.

During her time as a glorified carnie Sif realizes that as talented as all the other performers are, none of them get a reaction quite like Loki does.

With just a roll of his dice he can make his audience believe in magic. They aren't entertained though. They're pissed. It's not just that he uses his tricks to get them to empty their pockets. It's his demeanor. Even when he smiles, there is something mean about it.

Sometimes she sees upset young men stalking away from his booth with their girlfriends in tow, muttering words like "british douchebag" or "cheating fag". Americans and their fucking language.

Loki never acknowledges Sif's return to the circus. She never sees him during the day. She never sees him at meals. It has to be intentional, after all the circus isn't _that_ big. He has never liked her and she has never liked him so it's just as well.

Sif is scraping the dried mud caked beneath a pony's hooves when their charade comes to a halt. She is surprised to see him the daylight.

"I'd expected you to be fat by now and married with ten children."

She squints up at his silhouette, shielding her eyes because the sun is right over his shoulder. _Married with ten children._ He has no way of knowing that he's just hit a very delicate nerve and she refuses to let it show.

"Not the life for me." Sif is nearly proud of her casual reply as she turns back to scraping at the pony's hoof. What the hell does he want anyways? She has been here for weeks and _now_ he wants to chat. Bullshit.

"The world wasn't what you expected to be." Oh _fuck_ him. So much intuition, and it's all wasted on this asshole.

"Sure."

_Go away._ He does.

* * *

One day Odin has had enough. Loki's pissing off too many customers. As much as Loki enjoys his little booth, for _some reason_ the audience doesn't enjoy being made fools of themselves. Odin thinks they want something edgy and entertaining. Loki's good with knives so Odin comes up a _brilliant_ idea for a flying dagger show but of course there are no volunteers.

So the seniority card is played and Sif just so happens to be the newest on board. She argues the fact that she's been in this circus longer than half the people here but apparently those are just technicalities. Odin thinks the combination of Sif's sword swallowing and Loki's dagger throwing is going to make tickets go like hot cakes.

This is how Sif becomes Loki's assistant. At first Sif finds the title pretty offensive and wont accept it. It's not like she's just posing there and looking pretty with her thumb up her ass. No she's expected to put on a god damn show of her own. It might just be her most dangerous performance ever and anyone with two eyes will see its a partnership. But Odin has only got one eye and he runs the place.

So yeah, Sif is Loki's assistant. Whatever.

* * *

The first time Loki's daggers cuts her skin, it is only their third day of rehearsing. She is sliding the tip of the blade into her mouth with trembling hands as daggers fly into the board around her. He is precise and his daggers land at least a full four inches from her skin each time. Yet no matter how skilled he is with his throwing, Sif feels sick to the stomach with uneasiness each time he releases one from his hands.

_He knows what he is doing. He knows what he is doing. Damn that was close!_

The next time he throws, she accidentally flinches and the dagger skims her shoulder. She take the swords out of her mouth as he lowers his hand.

"What was that?" He demands as she steps away from the board with a gasp.

"I'm sorry but have you noticed I've got a fucking _sword_ down my _throat_ while you're flinging over a dozen knives at me. What if you miss?"

"How about you do your own job and trust me to do mine."

"Trust _you_?"

She laughs in his face.

No one see him for the rest of the day and he doesn't show that night to perform. What a flake.

* * *

Despite their inability to get along for more then two minutes, their act improves and soon they are doing it in front of an audience.

Girls cover their eyes. The kids squeal. The men swallow. Its like she never left.

Despite the positive reaction from the audience, Odin grunts that they need to work on their presentation. They need to dress it up. Make it less scary and more thrilling. Oh and sexy, too. Apparently Sif wears too much clothing.

"Why doesn't he just have me take off all my bloody clothes," she rants to Loki. She does this sometimes just because she is sure he doesn't listen to her. She drops to the floor and starts to push. She may be out of the military but she'll be damned if she lowers her fitness standards an inch.

"Then we would _really_ have some quality entertainment wouldn't we? " She huffs between push ups.

He takes a drag from his fag and turns the page of his book. He isn't listening. Typical.

So Sif dresses like a slut as requested and it gets them more attention. Okay, she doesn't actually dress like a _slut_ but from the way Loki's unkind eyes pass over her bare skin in disapproval, it makes her feel that way. It some what comforts Sif that he gets a costume too. It's a black and green outfit of leather and fake gold that is nearly identical to hers.

Except _he_ gets to keep his legs and chest covered.

Sif agrees to make their act a little more tasteful but refuses to add balloons without explaining why. Thor sides with Odin on the idea, thinks it would be _brilliant_ if Loki were to pop the balloons with his daggers.

Loki rolls is eyes. But for Sif it's a solid _no_.

Odin is considering putting Sif and Loki's show under the Big Tent but needs to see an effort on their part to enrich the show. Sif uses this as motivation and Loki, well, Loki doesn't really seem to care about Odin, his tent or anything else. Sometimes she wonders why he is here at all.

But for some reason when Sif asks for things, Loki will usually give them to her. She tosses it to his indifferent nature.

So per Sif's exact request, Loki "acts like he gives shit", sleeks back his mess of black hair and stops smirking at the damn audience.

Sif puts on lipstick, uses a blindfold and sometimes changes her sword for an iron stick with a flaming tip. Sif considers her efforts much larger than Loki's but she will get what she can take.

With a little choreography and some music their show is suddenly Big Tent worthy. The audience _adores_ the show, her hard work is finally paying off and she _would_ be entirely satisfied...

If it weren't for the fact that Odin introduces them each and every night as the _brother and sister duo_.

They are both uncommonly tall, have ebony hair and wear matching costumes so Sif can see why the audience buys it. People seem to really like family performances but Sif doesn't thinks it's necessary. Loki doesn't seem to particularly enjoy suddenly becoming Sif's sibling either but with him she can never really tell what he likes and doesn't like.

Thor loves the two working together and suggests Sif takes a stage name;

Lady Loki.

_Please_.

* * *

Thor's temper is the same as when they were younger.

Sif can say that for the most part her fans are earnest people but wherever you go and whatever you do there will always be perverts. Sif has a nearly formulaic way of dealing with the unwanted attention and here is how it usually happens:

There is the perverted man who approaches her after a show with some cheesy, lewd line.

"Hey babe, how would you like to try putting something of mine down your throat that isn't made of metal?"

Then there's Sif slightly more witty yet equally vulgar comeback.

"Well I've never attempted anything shorter than two inches but there's a first time for everything right?"

The pervert won't usually handle the rejection well and this time is no different.

"What did you say to me freak?!"

But this time around _Thor_ happens to over hear it. She hadn't even seen him until his voice startles her from behind.

"She _said_ you should watch the way you speak to a lady."

"Hey fuck off big guy." Not a smart move. Thor comes barreling forward.

"Thor, I have this completely under contr-" Sif starts to say to Thor but it comes a little too late. He has already pulled his fist back. Thor lays the guy out and Sif sighs. She would like to see it as an act of jealousy. But she knows Thor too well.

* * *

Sif comes to realize that the only thing Loki and Thor share is their temper.

If she had been thinking ahead she would have hid her whiskey a little better but she hadn't expected Loki to so easily find her stash. Right after a show she walks around the stage intending to grab a whisky bottle from underneath the wooden platform. But she stops short because Loki is standing there with the bottle already in his hand.

Sif catches the incredulous look he gives her and shrugs with a snort. It's not the first time she's had a few swigs before going on stage and it's not like she got _drunk_. She doesn't see the big deal.

"What? I'm sober _, bloody hell_. It's make me steady-"

The bottle shatters to the ground and Sif shrieks in shock, her hands fly to her mouth.

" **Are you out of your _fucking_ mind**?!"

Sif's eyes are wide and her heart is racing. She has never seen Loki this pissed and it's scary. She has seen the scathing looks he gives to Thor and doesn't really understand them but they have never been directed at her.

" **Look at me!"** Her eyes fly from the wet ground to him. "If you think this-" he stabs a finger at the fragments of glass and whisky that stain the floor. "-is acceptable you have a problem."

Sif's jaw sets and she looks away in anger and a tad of shame.

"The next time I find you've been drinking before an act I will see to it myself that you never set foot in this place again."

He is serious.

After he is gone Sif is left to stare at the puddle of broken glass and whisky in after shock. What the hell is it to him anyways? He doesn't really even care about the show.

* * *

One night after a show in Boston, it storms. Thor loves the thunder and lightning. It's loud and powerful like him so why shouldn't he? Sif nearly has a heart attack. Thankfully whisky can drown out even the sound of thunder.

A fairly drunk Sif stumbles into Loki's box car later that night. He must keep it unlocked out of arrogance. He isn't here so Sif rifles through his things shamelessly and seethes at how much room his has in this box car. And what does this wanker do with all this space? He fills it with _books_. What is he, a god damn philosopher?

Sif is passed out on his bed when he returns. She awakes to the smell of smoke to find Loki sitting on the end bed with a cigarette between his fingers as he reads. Does he do anything else than smoke and read? She can tell she didn't sleep for long at all because she is still very intoxicated.

"When I close my eyes I see their faces," she slurs into her arm. She looks up from the pillow at Loki. His cigarette is frozen an inch from his mouth and he is actually looking at her for a change. "I hear them getting shot all around me. I hear them dying. But they can't hear me"

Not every dream is a nightmare though.

"Sometimes I see Frigga. Before the chemo."

His book snaps closed and he is up in a flash. He slides the door open for her, allowing the chilly night air into the car.

"Get out."

Sif rolls over, still drunk off her ass and unable to catch his dangerous undertone. Sif giggles drunkenly as she gets off the bed and goes to the door. It's no longer storming, thank goodness. She pauses at the door before Loki.

"And sometimes I dream about you."

She doesn't even blush as the secret easily escapes her lips. Sif supposes later on her behavior will shame her when she's sober and the only way to chase away her humiliation is with her flask. It's a vicious cycle and Sif knows she is drowning. What can she do about it?

She presses her back to his chest and pulls his stiff arms around her shoulders. He is uneasy and resistant as she sways her hips against his. Although she's got him trapped against the wall he could make her stop if he _really_ wanted to. She should stop but she doesn't.

"I dream you're touching me. I don't even like you," she snorts. "Your such an asshole and you're mean sometimes but I just-"

She pushes herself into him, a little lower this time. A little gasp comes from her lips as she suddenly feels that there is a part of his body that is _actually_ responding.

He freezes.

"There you are."

She is suddenly hit with cold air.

"Goodbye Sif."

She flies into damp grass. It take her a moment to realizes her pushed right out of his door. But by then the metal door has already slammed shut behind her.

Asshole.

* * *

One morning Sif can't find her dog tags anywhere. She wears them like they are apart of her skin and somehow they have vanished in her sleep. She empties her duffel bag, turns her mattress over, scours every inch of the carnival grounds. They are nowhere to be found. After a week they leave for a new city and she must give up her hopeless search for the treasured tags.

The show must go on.

* * *

Sometimes Sif will go out. Usually to replenish her liquor supplies but sometimes she just likes to walk around in a new city. She remembers fondly months ago when they had reached New Orleans just in time for Mardi Gras. Bourbon Street had been fun and Thor hadn't noticed when she looped her arm through his.

This time they are in Vancouver and it's a really pretty place so Sif walks around the port's edge alone, watching the city lights glitter off of the English Bay. It's the furthest North Odin ever takes the circus and soon they will return to American soil. So Sif treasures the cool bite in the Canadian air.

This is why she does it all.

Sif doesn't decide to turn back until an ungodly hour. She gets lost easily and knows it's her fault for wandering so far. She's find herself on the east side of the city where the only things left on the streets are hobos, whores and drunks. Sif guesses she's one of them.

By the cat whistles she knows she's on the grittier side of town. Her quiet footsteps somehow catch the attention of a man leaning up against a grungy wall in the alleyway to her right.

"Hey princess." He is old enough to be her father and Sif can smell his alcoholic breath from here. She happens to be sober, mind you. "I got a question."

There was a time, _long_ ago, when Sif would have meekly pulled her coat tighter and scurried away before he could finish his sentence. Instead Sif slows down, something a woman should never do when alone but men don't scare Sif like they used to.

"How much?" He asks between hiccups as his eyes run over Sif's body. If he was sober he would see that Sif is wearing at least four layers of clothing but he isn't. So to him everything with breasts and a pulse is a prostitute for hire.

"You can't afford me sweetheart."

Somehow he notices her accent. "I've never nailed a British chick before."

"And I've never kicked a Canadian's ass."

He suddenly shrugs off the wall and snatches Sif before she can make a run for it. The air around him is rancid and Sif scrunches her face, trying to disappear within her scarf. He's a big guy. Sif didn't notice when he was slouched against the brick wall like a dumpy sack of potatoes.

A stray cat jumps from behind the dumpster and runs away from their commotion. He's only beginning place sloppy kisses down her neck when his weight suddenly vanishes.

Sif's eyes fly open. Loki? He yanks the man back and brings his knee into the drunk's gut. He keels over just in time receive Loki's fist right in his face. He flies backwards onto the ground in a bloody-faced mess and is out like a light.

Loki crouches down and puts his cigarette out on the unconscious freak's forehead. Then he just walks away with his hands stuffed in his pocket. All Sif can think is that _he just put his smoke out someone's head! Who does that?!_

"The train leaves in an hour."

These are the only words he says to her and they are thrown over his shoulder before he disappears into the night. She imagines he is pissed that Odin sent him after her. Or maybe he was following her. She doesn't know, Loki's a strange fellow.

After that night, Sif begins to think there is something wrong with Loki. Like mentally. There were signs. The anti-social tendencies. The lack of remorse. It's becoming clear; the guy is nuttier then a payday.

The more she realizes that he's kind of fucked up like her, the less she dislikes him.

* * *

The sun is shining bright the day Thor meets Jane Foster. She is petite, pretty and painfully young. The brown eyed brunette is one of the local American university students here in New Mexico. Thor introduces himself by inviting her on stage and kissing the top of her hand. The goofiest grin Sif has seen splits across Jane Foster's face.

Even from afar Sif can see things are about to change.


End file.
